Its Prisoner

It is torture.

Sometimes it provokes tears

At times it makes me smile

It can crush me entirely

The sour taste of pain remains present for a while

The way the feeling pierces my skin

Spreading rapidly throughout my body

Reaching every space there is to reach within

It can be suffocating          

But it can lift me up as well

Creating a moment of unmatchable glory

Whereupon it breaks me down

As effortless as breaking a cracked eggshell

When it’s there I wish it away

When it’s gone I want it back

When it’s good I am indestructible

When it’s bad I’m a wreck

It plays with my head, it toys with my mind

It hides things from me

It uncovers facts I’d rather not find

I cannot control it

Because I think it might be a part of me

I am its prisoner

Although I am indisputably free

I guess there’s no escaping

If there was, would I be trying?

It’s torture

But nodding would be lying